POOHEAD189

Wealth and Warpstorms

It was a piss poor team, Alcander realized as he rammed the magazine into his bolt-pistol.

Jocasta, swathed in wool and thermal wear, along with a loud scarf, bounced from foot to foot as if they were about to step into a warm bar and not a frozen land of endless tundra. Hugging Camilla's skirts was a refurbished utility-combat servitor, though how it was going to traverse the terrain was beyond Alcander's abilities to fathom. Behind them, three voidsmen were checking their gear, each wearing winter coats that would not look too out of place on valhallan guardsmen, down to their (likely bartered) ushankas.

Alcander had on his usual, though covered by a greatcoat befitting his office, shanghaied though he might be. Alcander held up a hand to hold the shuttle up for a brief spell, as two of the ship's crewmen stepped from the corridor accompanied under the watchful eye of a high guard in the Trantio regalia. Between the two crewmen was a plasteel crate, heavy by the looks of how they moved it. Camilla quirked an eyebrow, and stomped forward.

"What's the meaning of this? If you're going t-"

"Et's a melta-drill." He said simply, without a hint boasting. While he took pride in his work, he knew everyone had their strengths. Mucking about in slums finding things he shouldn't just happened to be lucrative if you marketed yourself correctly. Though he admitted he did have a small amount of satisfaction from the look that twisted onto Camilla's face. He raised an eyebrow. "D'ya thenk I wis jest twiddlin' m' thumbs the pest week?"

Camilla regained her poise so quickly, most people without a background in acute observation might have missed it entirely. She tossed her hair back with a quick flourish of her head and stepped beside him, watching the cargo being loaded onto the shuttle. "Where did you find it?"

"Hab 14 Gamma," Alcander answered. After the announcement on the bridge, he'd needed to take a good shower and find some recaff. It had been an exhausting few days, and he hadn't gotten as dirty as that since his time in the Underhive of Chima Lomas. Much like then, the corridors had been thick with gangers and verm, but he'd gained a rapport with the guardsmen of the Navarre ever since the coup. A firing line and a well ordered march and the scoundrels scattered like rats. "There's aboot three dozen o' th' things. Frem what I ken tell, they've been there fer two centuries."

Alcander knew they would be invaluable on a world covered in thick ice sheets, especially for reconnaissance for resources. Oddly enough, they could also be impressive weapons in a pinch if they found anything too hulking for their small arms to handle.

"Well, I need you closer. You're a seneschal, not a probator, anymore." She said, somehow succeeding in towing the line between a gentle reminder and speaking to a particularly slow child. Alcander gave her a neutral look, but it miraculously spoke volumes of the muddied thoughts between them. "However...good work."

Her compliment was accentuated by the gleeful squeal of Jocasta from the sight of the casket. How she knew what it was, Alcander could not know. But engineers had their ways he supposed. She hurried over to the crate as it was being set down, her hands out and her eyes wide as if she could not even begin to guess how to open it without offending the archeo-tech.

Alcander inclined his head at Camilla's approval. He remember when he had first laid eyes on Camilla, he was certain he couldn't trust a beautiful woman. Then later, they had become somewhat acquainted and gained a certain modicum of respect, followed by days of various dashing rescues and firefights, and then the imprisoning promotion of becoming her second in command. He felt vindicated from his first impression, but at the same time, he knew she had done it out of necessity. Well, he was not going to appear cheery or even congenial until she apologized or asked, but in the meantime, he would do as he was bid.

"So, wet's on the docket when we lend, Capt'n." He asked her, before the shuttle thrummed to life, and the motley crew began boarding. Jocatsa began to babble about the Melta-Drill, and while Alcander was at first amused, by the end of the flight he was hoping one of the voidsmen could use their auto pistols to grant him the Emperor's Peace.

Nation-Building RP interest check

@kkotr would this RP be on this site or elsewhere?

Savage Worlds horror game?

Unfortunately Ricky, in order to advertise it here, it has to be played on the site.

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

@ctrlsaltdel I have no qualms about speeding it up and continuing.

Wealth and Warpstorms

"Open it."

The electric-pneumatic tools whirred loudly as the crewmen meticulously opened the crates one by one, the decades, if not centuries of dust particles and dead air stung the nostrils. The stench of idle rust permeated the confined space. Servitors were finishing the last of the excavation from the old quarter, placing the final container down next to the others. Alcander breathed through the cloth he had managed to find, eschewing the bulky re-breather he had been offered thrice by the voidsmen he'd requisitioned for the payload. Beside him stood Blegywryd, a guide and suspected psyker of some skill but ill-repute, having fallen out of favor from the de Trantio two generations ago from a "misunderstanding" with Lord Captain Mondego de Trantio. Alcander hadn't asked, he didn't really care.

The past four days, he had busied himself by delving into the bowels of the Navarre, getting accustomed to the sounds and ways of the ship. He had an inkling there might be some pockets of resistance still left, but his main goal was to merely grow used to the idea of being a seneschal to such a powerful lady of the Imperium, no matter how much he was currently pissed at her. Old habits took hold, and before he knew it, he found a few imperfections in the current maps, which led to passageways not seen in decades, and some locals who pointed him in the direction of Blegywyrd's hut in the habs where the Navarre's refuse found its home. Using his authority, he'd gnabbed a small force to follow him. With some quick detective work, and a will, they had uncovered a small vault.

A voidsman flinched back as the first ancient crate popped open a hair's breadth. The other patted the top of the crate, and on the count of three, both men hauled the opening back, accompanied by cracks of old steel hinges. The crate's top hit the ground like a small anvil, and Alcander gave out a sultry, appreciative whistle. It was quickly followed by a laugh of incredulity and disbelief.

Blegywyrd nodded in satisfaction as Alcander hopped down into the vault and took a closer look at the archeo-tech. It was a melta-drill, perfectly preserved. An ancient, almost forgotten tool, remarkably efficient. Its original design was pieced together from fragmented archeotech descriptions of an attempt to create a melta melee weapon. The result is a device capable of continuous, short-ranged, thermal melta energy emissions, permanently connected to a hefty, backpack-mounted energy source. It was excellent for fast, reasonably safe excavation into all but the hardest of materials. Almost invaluable, despite himself he swelled with pride at the discovering. He felt a hand clap his shoulder, and glance to see the captain of the local void militarus, Rankos Vos, beam at the discovery.

"The lady will be proud." Vos said.

"M' reasen fer livin'," Alcander remarked, not advertising the sardonicism in the comment. A the crates continued to open, they began to realize it was a small collection of the devices. Forty in all, with fresh power packs. Any rogue trader would see it as a moderate boon, and the smaller traders would be set for life. Just as Alcander was about to direct the servitors where to take them, he received static on his comm.

"Terra to detective grumpy bones, come in." Jocasta's familiar voice pipped in. He tried to respond, but it was clear she had redirected the signal to reach him through other channels, making it a one way street. "Your presence is being requested on the bridge by our leader. We've left the warp and made contact. See you in a few, hotshot."

He ran a hand along the melta-drill's archaic ceramite skin, appreciating the discovery for a moment longer before he rushed away, leaving it in Vos's capable hands.

Nameless

Perhaps...

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

Quintus kicked the car door open and spun, planting his rifle on the hood of the vehicle and immediately scanned for anyone that might have followed, eyes peeled for a solid ten seconds before he lifted the barrel to the sky and stood his full height. Clear, he thought to himself, and he opened the back door, unceremoniously pulling out Chyro-Tek and once again hauling him onto his shoulder. He turned to stomp up the ramp leading into the ship. It was a fine vessel, he'd been on a lot worse in his time. Quintus turned left and marched down the corridor, before shoving the man into the brig, a spacious compartment cordoned off by glassteel.

Chyro-Tek fell in like a sack of rocks, and Quintus closed the glassteel barrier behind him and locked it. So far so good, but if there were more complications, he might demand a raise for hazard pay. Not because Chyro-Tek had been particularly dangerous, just Quintus's team.

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

@ctrlsaltdel Understood

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

@ctrlsaltdel Is there anything we can do to help Ijin speed along, or anything to do onboard, or should I just post that Quintus boards?

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

Kasimir made it downstairs, tired and hungry. Rising early was usually easy for him, but after weeks on the road and a night of exertion, the sleep he got wasn't entirely satisfactory. He gestured to the staff for a plate of eggs and ham, and asked for a small pitcher of water before he sat down at one of the multitude of empty tables available. There were only a few travelers, hard men in tough leathers, as well as a merchant and a few locals, up at this hour. He heard the slurred speech that betrayed a few of them as talabeclanders, but the rest sounded like they were from his home province, stark accents and to the point in speech. Seemed like the ravaging hordes had interrupted a lot of commerce. Well, it wasn't his problem. He just needed something in his stomach first, then he could brainstorm on what to do.

The plate of food didn't seem too fresh, but it was hot and welcoming. The breakfast was set down right when another man took a seat opposite to him. Immediately, without making the appearance of it, Kasimir was on guard. He was a fine swordsman, he could clear his weapon out and cut the man's throat before he fully unsheathed whatever long knife he might have beneath that coat he wore.

"Wanted to meet me, eh? That or the lady is smarter than she looks," the surly ne'er-do-well said quietly. He glanced left and right, his scraggly facial hair looked like the quills on a porcupine.

Kasimir's entire line of questioning came to an abrupt stop, and a new line of questioning immediately surfaced. "Who the hell are you?"

The vagabond grinned, tapping his head with his index finger. "Riiiight, play dumb. I get you, master. But you can trust me. I already got things settled for ya on the barge. You still got a few hours before it sets off." He assured Kasimir, who absorbed the information, unsure if he should lead the man behind the inn and beat him for information. "You girl might 'ave gotten the seat for the both of ye for her goods alone, but it's good you're up to the task once you get landside."

A familiar yawn drew Kasimir's attention, and he glanced back with the same subtley one might do if they were being followed. Her hair tousled, Emmaline had dressed quickly and come down the stairs, bleary eyed and as tired as Kasimir was, only less able to kick herself out of it for some time, likely. Kasimir regarded the man, and curbed the sudden feeling to pinch the bridge of his nose. Ulric save him for what he'd done last night, and what he might do now.

"What exactly did the lady promise to get us these seats?"